


The Wizard of the Dune Sea

by celinamarniss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bound Together, Force Woo, Gen, Meet-Cute, Tatooine (Star Wars), sort of a myrkr remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19476571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamarniss/pseuds/celinamarniss
Summary: They tell stories on Tatooine about the Wizard of the Dune Sea. They say he has strange powers like the Jedi of Old; that he can tame krayt dragons and call water down from the sky. Some say he drove the Empire from Tatooine, and everyone knows the Hutts will never set foot on the planet as long as he lives. When the Mighty Jabba angered him, he sent lightning and fire down the Hutt and his followers, and turned his palace to dust.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to proofreaders/betas evilmouse and threadsketchier

Tuva had been watching the small human since it entered the marketplace. The child skipped alongside its adult caretaker, an adult human that wore long skirts and had its human hair braided at the back of its head. The smaller human babbled in Basic as it bounced along, the sun shining on its short, light hair, yellow as hova grass. Tuva wasn’t sure what gender the small human was; he’d never been very good at telling human genders. It wore the same pale clothing and wrapped boots that many of the adult humans wore. 

None of that really mattered. What mattered was that small humans were easier to catch, and fetched a good price in certain off-planet markets. The adult human gave the small one an indulgent smile, and the little one ran ahead, toward the booths that sold spun sugar, leaving the adult behind. 

Humans were _so_ easy to catch. 

“I wouldn’t,” a soft voice came from behind Tuva, nearly causing him to drop his h’rutcha. “Most moisture farmers are dead shots with a slugthrower, and they don’t take kindly to their children being threatened.” 

Tuva turned to look at the human who had come up behind him without him even noticing. It was an adult human, in the same dun robes he’d seen on many other beings on Tatooine. It wore a hood and had a long silver device at its belt, but it seemed unarmed. Unlike the adult human with the child, it had patches of human hair on its face. 

“I wouldn’t hunt slaves at all on Tatooine, if I were you,” it said, its voice pleasant and reasonable. 

It was right, Tuva thought. Hunting humans on Tatooine wasn’t a good idea after all. It was all so clear now.

“Leave this planet,” it suggested in the same amiable voice. “Don’t come back again.” 

That was an excellent idea, Tuva thought. He was going to leave this hot, dusty, gods-forsaken planet and never come back again. 

He wrapped up his stun net and secured it to his shoulder, hoisted his h’rutcha, stepped away from the alcove where he’d been hidden in the shade from the blistering sun, and headed for the space port. 

“Ho, Tuva,” A voice called as he crossed the thoroughfare. 

“Feena,” he hummed back. 

Feena wiggled in the way she always did when she was excited about something. “What did the wizard say to you?” 

“Wizard?” 

“The Wizard of the Dune Sea. He spoke to you! Tell, tell, what did he say?” 

Tuva blinked one set of eyelids. There had been someone who spoke to him, though he had to think hard to retrace the steps he’d taken only a few moments before. 

“The human?” 

“Yes! That human is the Wizard of the Dune Sea!” 

“He didn’t say anything to me.” Tuva had heard whispers of the Wizard of the Dune Sea, but he’d never paid any attention to local legends. 

“Lies! I saw him speak to you! Tell!” When Tuva hummed in annoyance, Feena simply continued her babble. “He has powers you can’t imagine, tah! They say he can tame a krayt dragon and call water from the sky!” Her voice grew hushed. “He killed Jabba himself and turned his palace into dust at a wave of his hand! They say the Hutts will never set foot on Tatooine again as long as he lives.” She wiggled again, making a strange gesture with her hands. “May he live as long as the winds over the Dune Sea.” 

“Tall tales,” Tuva huffed. He should never have listened to a Feena’s sun-crazy rambling. “Children’s stories.” 

“All true, tah! Haven’t you ever heard of Luke Skywalker?” 

\- - - 

As the slaver sulked away toward the spaceport, Luke Skywalker pulled up the hood of his cloak and turned to head deeper into the Old Town. The late afternoon sun left long shadows that pooled in corners and narrow alleyways, where flickers of movement hinted at the beings who lurked there. Even though Jabba was dead and the War was over, Mos Eisley was still riddled with shadow business and skin trade, despite his efforts to discourage both. There was a thread of malevolence that wound through the city, earning it all the disparaging comments Luke had heard Ben utter over the years. 

He missed Ben. 

There were ordinary people who lived here too, decent people, who worked hard to get by, scraping some sort of living out of the dust-covered city. The population of Mos Eisley had swelled since the night the Bestine had burned, and now many dwellings were home to three or four families; the streets and marketplace far more crowded than they’d been in his youth. He kept coming back to Mos Eisley for their sake, doing what he could to keep slavers from preying upon the defenseless. And to pick up supplies, of course. 

It had been a good day at the marketplace. The knapsack over his shoulder was full of bottles of saba oil, a new hydrospanner, a used power converter that he’d found at a good price, and, as a special treat, fresh flatbread baked that morning. He checked the position of the suns and decided that he had time to stop in for a drink at Dro’s before heading back into the Jundland Wastes. 

The faded aurebesh sign above the door read _The Falling Star,_ although many of the patrons were barely literate, and most people just called it Dro’s, after the woman who owned the place. 

The bar was only beginning to fill up with patrons thirsty for the end-of-day specials. They crowded the tables and booths that lined the walls of the establishment, while a group of rowdy looking Rodian swoop riders were clumped around the right-hand side of the curved bar. His stool was still open at the left-hand side of the bar, an attractive dark-haired woman sitting a few seats closer to the corner. She didn’t look up as he took his usual spot. Dro herself had just finished lining up a row of shots for the Rodians when she spotted him, a wide grin breaking out over her face. 

“Luke Skywalker!” she called as she crossed over to where he sat. “When are you going to marry one of my sons?” Her accent was still heavy even after having spent more years on Tatooine than on her home planet. 

“Like I always tell you, Dro, I’m not interested in getting married.” He leaned his arms on the edge of the bar, smiling at her. “Besides, Enos is seeing a boy over in Mos Espa and Taff prefers women anyway.” 

“There’s always Yonnel.” 

“Yonnel’s married,” Luke protested.

“Yes, but he says he’s open to taking another husband.” 

“He won’t want to marry a boring hermit.” 

“Boring, hah!” She slapped the bar. 

“My life is boring enough, now that the War’s over.” 

“So, you’re ready to settle down. If you won’t take one of my boys, there are plenty of other good-looking young things…” her eyes wandered down the bar to the dark-haired woman. “What do think?” She asked the woman, gesturing at Luke. “He might not look like much, but he’s got talents.” 

_“Dro.”_ Luke didn’t mind Dro’s good-natured ribbing, but it was another thing to bring a stranger into it. He flashed the dark-haired woman an apologetic grimace. 

The woman at the bar looked over and gave him an appraising look. Her eyes were a strange silvery blue color; probably due to some non-human heritage. Offworlder. 

He knew what she saw as she looked him over: a small, unremarkable looking man wearing the plain, dun-colored robes of a local and a heavy brown cloak. His clothes were worn and he wore no jewelry to mark wealth or clan affiliation. His sun-bleached hair and beard were in need of a trim. He had been told he looked older than he was. 

At least he didn’t smell. 

A faint expression of amusement crossed her face before she turned back to her drink. He couldn’t help the small pang of rejection; it had been a while since he’d invited anyone to warm his bed, and he was only human, despite what the stories said. 

“Sorry about that,” he muttered to his own drink. 

Dro had been called to the other end of the bar by an impatient Duros, but when she passed she patted his hand sympathetically. It didn’t help. 

There were few places in Mos Eisley where Luke could let down his guard, even partially, and he treasured the atmosphere at Dro’s for that luxury. The ale alone was worth a visit, and he took his time with his drink, savoring the rich taste.

He was staring off into space when Dro tapped his hand. She jerked her head toward the entrance. 

Sauntering through the entryway was a man that Luke recognized—a smuggler who worked for Talon Karrde. What was his name? Antilles—he thought, a common name in the Core, now made famous by the man who had destroyed the Death Star at Yavin.

That was it, Bresk Antilles. 

He was accompanied by a slender redhead who moved like an off-duty dancer and covered Bresk’s left flank, waking a few paces behind him. They hadn’t spotted Luke yet, which was probably thanks to the questionable lighting in the bar. 

“I don’t want any trouble tonight,” Dro said. Her jovial demeanor had evaporated.

I understand,” he said. He hadn’t _meant_ to pick a fight with Antilles the last time their paths had crossed. He hadn’t meant to get in a fight at all, but he’d been feeling sorry for himself and the man got on his nerves. It had been one of those nights when he’d felt unsettled, restless, like there was an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. All the Corellian whiskey in Dro’s couldn’t drown out that feeling, or the self-pity that came with it. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d slipped out of the bar’s back door, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Usually he slunk out to avoid a patrol, or a bounty hunter, not sneak past a smuggler he didn’t like very much. It felt like a new low. 

He might not be on good terms with Karrde or his people, but even he could admit that Karrde wasn’t Jabba. Karrde didn’t care about Tatooine or the people who lived there, but he didn’t actively encourage the slavers or steal from the moisture farmers. 

Karrde wasn’t his enemy. The War with the Desilijic was over; Jabba was dead. Even the Imperials had gone, though they had let the Hutts burn Bestine before they went. On the other side of the galaxy, the New Republic was putting laws into effect that would prohibit the sale of sentients and hobble the slave trade. Those laws were still far off, and didn’t apply to Tatooine anyway. 

The slavers still came. Mos Eisley remained a locus of smuggling, corruption, drug trade and slave trade.

Everything was the same under the suns. Always. 

Outside of Dro’s, a weak breeze shifted small scoops of sand across the ground without offering any relief from the heat. The shadows that had stretched between the buildings were even longer. The first sun hadn’t set yet, but it would take him all night to cross the desert; he might as well get started. 

He should stop by the farm. He hadn’t spoken to Aunt Beru in months. 

His eopie, a stubborn old creature with a soft spot for melon rinds, was stabled on the edge of town, and Luke always stopped at the market first to pick up a melon before he reached the stables. 

The second he stepped onto the main thoroughfare, the center of the market that sprawled across several blocks, his nerves jangled like an alarm had gone off. Without breaking his stride, he swept his gaze across the plaza, looking for any sign of the threat that had sent the Force ringing through his head. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary in sight. The marketplace was slowing down, many of the shopkeepers making their final sales and closing up for the night. Itkatsian the junk dealer waved to Luke as he crated up the last of his wares, and most of the produce vendors and farmers had already gone. A normal evening in Mos Eisley. 

It was the small group of Jawas gathered half a block from where he was standing that made all the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. They were standing at the edge of the market, in the shade of a low building. One of the Jawas appeared to be looking in his direction, but it was impossible to tell with the hood. The others were talking among themselves. A gathering of Jawas wasn’t an unusual sight on the streets of Mos Eisley, but there was still something off about the little group, something about the way they stood, stiff and alert, utterly unlike the way a group of Jawas usually looked when then converged, chattering and gesturing, their heads bobbing up and down as they argued. 

Luke ducked deeper into the marketplace. There was no logical order to the maze of booths that covered the big open square, and even locals could get turned around whenever a stall relocated due to the whim of its owners or the esoteric politics of the marketplace. He took a right at the booth where he’d bought saba oil that morning and looped back until he had a view of the alley where the Jawas had been gathered. 

They were gone—the stretch of dusty street where the odd group had been standing was now completely empty. Perhaps they’d returned to their sandcrawler, or—Luke threw himself to the side as the Force blared across his senses, a stun net whipping through the air into the space where he’d been standing a moment before. The net wrapped around a post nearby with a loud crackle of displaced energy that drew shouts and stares from nearby vendors who were still packing up their booths. 

Luke staggered against the side of a stall, whipping his head around to locate his attackers. Two brown-hooded figures darted down the narrow aisle toward him. They moved fast—with a grace and speed utterly unlike the awkward, flailing gait of a Jawa—but he didn’t have time to wonder who or what they were. One of the two fell back, spinning a second stun net above its head, while the other closed in, attempting to pin him against a stall that had already been shuttered for the night. 

They were trying to capture him, not kill, which probably ruled out some sort of assassination attempt by a disgruntled crime lord. If they were slavers, they’d picked the wrong target. 

Drawing the Force around himself, he _pushed_ outward, and the first of his attackers was flung backward into its compatriot, the net flying free. One of the two let out a keening cry—not a cry of pain, but a signal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another robed figure weaving quickly between the rows of booths, which accounted for three of the five that he’d first spotted. 

If they wanted him, they’d have to catch him first. 

As he ran deeper into the market, he heard another keening cry answering the first signal. He took a right at the haroun stand, dodging around Mikk’ian and nearly careening into Tosi. 

Tosi cursed and Mikk’ian shouted after him. “Watch where you’re going, Skywalker!” 

Shouting apologies over his shoulder, he ran by the now-shuttered row of bread stands and turned into the cookware alley. He could sense the approach of one of the beings hunting him, and he was startled anew at the speed at which the other moved through the marketplace. They definitely _weren’t_ Jawas. 

He’d been so focused on the not-Jawa pursuing him that he didn’t anticipate the second kidnapper who leapt at him from the shadow of a shuttered booth. He ducked as another stun net flew through the air, wrapping around the arm of a Twi’lek woman who stood nearby, browsing through a pottery stall. She screamed and fell to the ground, thrashing as she tried to knock the net away. 

Luke bit back a curse and swung his knapsack off his shoulder and into the face of his attacker. He heard the bottles of saba oil shatter as the bag made contact and the other being went down. Luke dropped the bag and rushed over to the woman entangled in the net. 

“It’s okay, hold still,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. With a deep breath, he wrapped his hands around the crackling duracord, grunting as the stun charge surged through him. He used the Force to absorb the charge and direct it into the ground, before he snapped the battery and pulled the net free. 

The woman was shaken but unharmed, and she muttered a string of curses as Luke helped her to sit up. “Bloody bastard scum-filled sand rats—” 

“Are you okay?” He could sense his pursuers closing in. 

She turned a dazed look on him and pressed her hand on his. “Yes, thanks to you, wizard.” 

That made him wince a little. Too many people on Tatooine knew him on sight now. It shouldn’t surprise him that a gang of kidnapping whatever-they-were could pick him out of a busy marketplace. 

“Can you take care of her?” he asked a shopkeeper who nodded and took his place. 

The chase hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was getting hard to pick his would-be kidnappers out of the mass of minds sparking with alarm, annoyance, and curiosity, moving towards the commotion or away from it, depending on the being’s inclination for observing or avoiding trouble. He should have led his pursuers _out_ of the marketplace to a deserted part of town where he could have taken them out without endangering any bystanders, but it was too late now. He picked an aisle lined with vegetable stalls which he knew led to a longer path to the edge of the marketplace and pushed his way past the clumps of sightseers. Maybe he could make it out before anyone else got hurt. 

Wrong choice. Before he’d gone more than a few paces down into the aisle, a robed figure appeared at the far end, a blaster in its hand. Skidding to a stop, Luke pivoted and vaulted over a barrel of hubba gourds. The post of a booth near his head shattered as a blaster bolt hit it, bringing the entire booth down. One of the owners screamed curses and hurled a crate in his direction, which struck the ground and shattered across the aisle. 

So his pursuers weren’t _that_ concerned with taking him alive or uninjured, and they didn’t care about collateral damage. That changed things. He picked one of the kidnappers out of the swarm of agitated presences and cut across the marketplace _toward_ them, pushing past the sightseers who’d come to gawk at whatever trouble was brewing. 

He pinpointed his target down another aisle and around two corners. As he approached, he stepped into the center of the aisle, making sure that the approaching opponent had a clear view of him. When the robed figure cleared the corner Luke stopped, arms held loosely at his side. The other being paused for a moment, clearly taken aback, and then leapt for him, the stun baton in his hand striking out at Luke. 

The baton was a blur through the air, and without the Force it would have laid him out cold. Luke moved out of the space where the baton would have landed. With the Force, knowing where something would be before it _was_ was as simple as breathing. 

He caught his attacker’s arm, twisting until the baton dropped from their fingers. His attacker recovered quickly, landing a punch in Luke’s side that made him stagger back a few steps. 

He regained his feet, braced for his opponent’s next move, when the rippling blue charge of a stun bolt struck his attacker in the back and the robed alien fell back onto the ground, unconscious. Luke looked up and saw a figure standing at the far end of the aisle, lowering a blaster. The figure wore a black helmet that obscured their features and the sort of nondescript outfit worn by many off-world smugglers who passed through Mos Eisley. Both helmet and jacket were free of any tribal markings or badges indicating gang affiliation. Perhaps they were human, perhaps not. 

“Thanks,” Luke called. “Can you—“ 

The mysterious figure raised their blaster again, taking aim. 

“Hey! Wha—” 

The stun bolt hit him in the chest and he lost consciousness. 

\- - -

Awareness returned slowly, with it groggy confusion, discomfort, and the not-unfamiliar headache that came from taking a direct stun bolt to the chest.

And the roar of a swoop engine directly next to his head. The engine vibrated through his entire body and there was a brisk wind against the side of his face. It was tempting—so very tempting—to slip back into unconsciousness in the hope that whatever trouble he was in now would just resolve itself on its own. 

There was a weight around his wrists. When Luke finally pried his eyes open, he could see that they’d been bound with a simple pair of cuffs as they hung down off the side of the bike. The rest of his body had been draped sideways across the back end of the swoop and strapped to the engine so that he didn’t roll off. He was face down, watching the sandy ground below the bike blur by. 

The suns had set, but there was enough moonlight to see the desert as it slid by the swoop, which was winding its way through a maze of low rock formations no taller than a one-story building. He had a pretty good idea where they were, in a general sense—east of the city, and a long walk back to Mos Eisley; a _very_ long walk. He craned his head, trying to get a look at whoever was driving the bike, but all he could make out was a dark humanoid shape. 

Attacked by Jawas that weren’t Jawas, and now slung over the back of a bounty hunter’s speeder bike. The evening had certainly taken an interesting turn. He’d assumed, because the helmeted bounty hunter had shot the not-Jawa attacking him, that they weren’t working together, but now he wasn’t sure. It could have all been a set-up. Bounty hunters had tried their luck before, attempting to curry favor with the Hutt clans or hoping that the Empire would pay for a fugitive Jedi. 

He was really tired of it. 

He was so tired. 

The locking mechanism on the cuffs was so simple he barely needed the Force to pop the tumblers loose and slip them off, watching as they plummeted into the dark. The straps holding him to the speeder were a slightly more complicated affair, but it didn’t take long to convince the knots to loosen and fall away. The last part was tricky. 

He could feel his lightsaber nearby but he couldn’t see it, and he stretched out with the Force until he found it clipped to the bounty hunter’s belt. Releasing the clip and guiding the lightsaber through the air and into his hands without the bounty hunter noticing—while still draped over the back of a swoop barreling through the air—took concentration and precision. 

Freed from the clip, he let the lightsaber slide slowly downwards until he could reach it without catching the attention of his captor. He turned the barrel inward, resting the handle up against the side of the swoop before he ignited the blade. It plunged into the engine. Luke switched it off again and rolled off the back of the swoop right before it spun out of control, bucking its driver and spinning into an outcropping with an explosion that lit up the night. 

Thanks to the Force, Luke landed on the sand with a gentle thump. 

The bounty hunter hadn’t been so lucky. 

Luke swung himself to his feet and moved over to the motionless body that lay face down in the sand. He slipped the bounty hunter’s blaster out of its holster, disengaged the power pack and tossed it a good distance into the desert before he turned the body over. Long black hair spilled out across the sand like an oil slick as a woman’s head lolled to the side, her face slack, eyes closed. 

It was the woman from the bar. 

She was still breathing, and he could feel consciousness seeping back into her. The jacket she wore might conceal another weapon, and he was _sure_ she had a knife in her boot, but he didn’t have time to search her more thoroughly before her eyes blinked open. Groaning, she lifted her head, those strange silvery eyes flashing up at him before she turned toward the smoldering swoop and swore. 

“You’ve really kriffed us over now, haven’t you?”


	2. Chapter 2

Luke backed up a few paces, his unlit lightsaber held loosely at his side. When the bounty hunter tried to lift herself up, she gasped and fell back again, an arm wrapping around her midsection.

“Kriff,” she swore, her face tightening in pain. “You broke my kriffing ribs.”

Luke backed up another step and crouched down, his arms propped on his knees, hands hanging in front of him. “Did I.”

She cried out as she sat up. “Kriffkriffkriff—”

“That looks painful,” he said calmly.

“Kriff you.” She shot him a glare that could have melted a sheet of durasteel.

“I can help you with that,” Luke said. “But first I want to know who sent you to kidnap me.”

“Kriff off.” She looked away, toward the swoop half buried in the sand. “Kriff,” she swore again as she watched the smoke billow out of the wreck. “This was supposed to be a simple extraction,” she muttered to herself. “Instead I get a crazy hermit who blows up my kriffing swoop.”

“You kidnapped me!” He couldn’t believe that she was complaining that a mark she’d kidnapped had fought back. “And you had me attacked!”

“That wasn’t me.” She finally stood, panting, left arm still wrapped around her side. Her right arm hung down awkwardly and he thought she might have pulled her something in her shoulder as well. “We need to get out of here. If the Noghri are still on your trail, their scanners will pick up the wreck.”

“The _what?_ Who _are_ you? Whose bounty are you collecting?”

“I’m _not_ a bounty hunter. I didn’t expect the Noghri to find you first, and I had to get you away from them.”

Luke snorted. “Or you killed a competitor so that you could take the bounty yourself.”

“I didn’t kill them.” That rang true. Everything else she’d said felt fuzzy around the edges, and he didn’t even need to the Force to know that she was being evasive with her answers where she wasn’t outright lying to him.

“That’s not the only reason you kidnapped me.”

“My…” She hesitated, winced, and seemed to come to a decision. “My employer was given some intelligence concerning someone on Tatooine who carries a lightsaber and calls himself a Jedi. Someone who took out Jabba the Hutt.”

“I’m not a mercenary. I can’t bought.” He’d had offers before.

“Anyone can be bought.”

He lifted his chin. “Try me.”

“We’re not looking for a mercenary,” she snapped, and shot another look at the burning wreckage. “My employer just wants to talk to you. But not here. We need to leave before the Noghri track us here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know who you are or who you work for, and you _kidnapped_ me.” It felt like she’d been telling the truth about the Noghri—whatever they were—and she did seem genuinely anxious about a second attempt, but Luke didn’t plan to stick around long enough for any reinforcements to arrive. He wasn’t looking forward to the long walk back to Mos Eisley, but he’d trekked further before, and at least the suns were already down.

“Wait.” As she stepped forward her ankle rolled on loose ground and she dropped back onto the sand with a hissed string of curses. Her space-pale skin turned a sickly white, and an aborted attempt to reach out for her ankle left her gasping. He winced in spite of himself.

When she looked up again, there was a pleading look in her gaze as she locked eyes with him. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

He let her wait for a few long moments, even though he’d already decided that he couldn’t leave her in pain. She reminded him of a wounded anooba that might lash out and dig its teeth into his thigh, even if it couldn’t stand.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he crouched beside her, gently peeling her hand away from her side and replacing it with his own.

“Lianna Harrik.”

Another lie, no doubt. “Okay, Lianna, hold still.”

His eyes drifted shut as he drew on the Force, as though he were wrapping it around himself and letting it flow through his fingers into her body. Using the Force to heal an injury was a difficult process, and even more complicated if it wasn’t your own body. He directed that flow, knitting bone, soothing tissue, easing inflammation, speeding up the natural process that would have taken her body weeks, even with the aid of modern medicine. 

A healing always brought back the memory of the first time Ben had used the Force to heal him, after he’d broken his arm in an accident involving Biggs’s souped-up speeder. He sat at Beru’s kitchen, Ben’s hands cool on his arm as the pain faded away and bone began to heal itself, a strange, unsettling feeling. “I’ll teach you to do this yourself one day, my young friend,” Ben had said, his face kind and knowing.

He let the memory shine in his mind for a moment before setting it aside again.

Healing took time, and even though he knew from experience how uncomfortable it was to have one’s body pulled back together by the Force, Lianna held still throughout the entire process.

When he opened his eyes, he found her watching him closely.

“You should be careful for a few days, but you won’t be in any more pain,” he said, helping her to her feet. “If you—”

She moved so quickly that he didn’t have time to react to the warning tingle in the Force. Her hand shot out and snapped one half of a binder on his wrist. As he stared stupidly at his hand, she shoved a small holdout blaster into his face. A short durasteel chain bound his wrist to the other half of the binder around her left wrist.

It would only take a second to reach for his lightsaber—

“Don’t. Try. It.”

—he still had a free hand, and he could free himself easily with a swipe of the blade.

“Toss it on the ground.”

Luke rolled his eyes. He unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and dropped it at her feet. She crouched to retrieve it, her eyes on him, only placing her blaster down long enough to attach the lightsaber to her own belt before straightening, the holdout pointed at him again. He didn’t think she would shoot to kill—not if she was keeping up the pretense of delivering him to her employer—but taking a second stun bolt to the head within hours of the first wouldn’t be the smartest move.

“I thought you said you weren’t a bounty hunter.”

“I’m _not_ a bounty hunter.”

He raised his eyebrows, lifting his chained hand. Hers came along, pulled upward like a puppet.

She narrowed her eyes. “Just because I’m not a bounty hunter doesn’t mean I trust you. I don’t. Trust. You.”

“What did I ever do to you?”

She jerked her head toward the burning wreck. “I’m not taking any chances.”

“You _kidnapped_ me,” he retorted, but it came out more as a petulant mutter, like he was ten again, and losing an argument with Aunt Beru.

He could still reach his lightsaber, and he could probably disarm her and free himself if he needed to. It would be tricky, but he was sure that fast as she was, she wasn’t a match for a trained Jedi—even with her watching him with the intensity of a desert shrike hunting a jakrab.

Eyes still on him, she reached into her jacket with her left hand. His bound hand was pulled along, knuckles brushing the edge of her jacket as she pulled a compass out of an inner pocket. A holographic diagram bloomed over the device when she flipped it open; thin blue lines mapping the nearby area with a row of coordinates hovering above it.

“Where are we going? To your ship?”

Ignoring the question, she turned east, tugging on the chain that bound them together. He was tempted to drop to the ground and see what she did then. She couldn’t _drag_ him across the desert, even if she wanted to. It was clear from the look on her face that she wanted to shoot him again; she was just barely holding herself back for that very reason. In a final fit of stubbornness, he let his arm extend, planting his feet for a few moments until she shot a pointed glare at him and he moved forward, following her across the sand.

Aunt Beru was definitely going to have a few choice words to tell him about letting himself be kidnapped by a dangerous woman with mysterious motives.

They left the outcropping where the swoop still smoldered and headed over a stretch of open sand. They weren’t far from the entrance to the Kairouan canyonlands, and if they kept heading east, they’d reach the Red Needle, a rock spire that marked the edge of the canyonlands. The landmark was a popular rendezvous point for smugglers.

“Bounty hunters have tried before, you know. They didn’t last long on Tatooine.” She ignored him, her expression implacable. “The information your boss has on me didn’t happen to come from Talon Karrde, did it?” She didn’t answer, but he didn’t need her word for confirmation. “Never mind.” Kriffing Karrde. “Why kidnap me anyway? Why not just ask me to meet your boss?”

He thought she was going to ignore that question as well, but after a pause she looked over her shoulder, her odd silver eyes glittering in the moonlight. “I’ve seen what’s left of Jabba’s palace. I didn’t think you’d come quietly.”

Luke fell silent.

What Tatooine now called “the War” against the Hutt clans had been his doing—and although the conflict has spilled out across the planet, the stretch of casualties spread much further than he had intended. The War had ended in Jabba’s throne room, when he alone had assassinated the Hutt and left the Palace a charred and shattered ruin.

The Hutt kajidics had enslaved his home planet for half a century before he’d even been born, and he had no regrets about killing Jabba and driving the kajidics off Tatooine. He’d do it again if had to. All of it. But he could see how it might look extreme in the eyes of an off-worlder.

“You could have just bought me a drink,” he muttered under his breath. Once again, she pretended not to hear or care.

The only sound in the silence that fell between them was the soft swish of sand sliding beneath their boots. They cleared the last of the rock towers and reached the wide stretch of dunes that lay between them and the canyonlands. Lianna glanced behind them, and Luke followed her gaze. The smoke from the wreck was an inky smudge on the night sky; a signal for anyone hunting for them. Yet the desert was empty of any light but the stars, and Luke didn’t see any sign of a pursing swoop or ship.

Before them the desert stretched to the horizon in gentle waves, washed in the silvery light of Tatooine’s moons. Two hand above the edge of the sky, Guermessa was nearly full, casting enough light to read a datapad. Ghomrassen was at half-light, but the larger moon shone nearly as bright as her sister satellite, while Chenini was a distant sliver of silver over his shoulder.

He spent half an hour figuring out the best way to unlock the cuffs on his wrist. The Force showed him the weakest point in the locking mechanism, and the easiest way to make them fail. Push here, a twist there. Just in case.

When he’d studied the lock to his satisfaction, he turned his attention on his captor. She still carried the small holdout in one hand, her other loosely extended where the chain ran between them. In her hurry to leave the site of the swoop wreck, she’d left behind both her helmet and the blaster he’d thrown into the desert, and both the holster at her hip and the holster hidden under her jacket sleeve were empty.

She dressed like a smuggler or bounty hunter: dark brown pants, dark leather boots and jacket over a long black shirt that peeked out of the jacket cuffs. The boots were tied to mid-calf, and weren’t wrapped to keep out the sand—a mistake on Tatooine, particularly for a hike across the desert. The leather jacket was fitted but boxy enough in the front to suggest that she was carrying more than just a compass. The long black hair that had been pinned under her helmet fell loose over her shoulders. It seemed to annoy her; she kept pushing it out of her face with her free hand. Her accent wasn’t particularly memorable except on certain words that marked her as a Core-worlder.

Lianna kept them at a steady pace, occasionally checking her compass to confirm their route. Even though he’d healed most of her injuries, her body was still recovering from the damage inflicted by the fall, and he was starting to worry that she might collapse before they made it to her ship.

When she stumbled, her city boots slipping on the sand, his hand jerked forward before he could think better of the motion and he stopped short just in time, dropping his hands to his side again.

“You’re tired. We could rest, just for a little bit.”

“No.”

“You need to take it easy—your body’s still recovering.” She jumped a little as he shook his wrist to rattle the chain that linked them. “I’m not going anywhere. What are you afraid of?” He could hear his frustration seeping into his voice.

Reaching out through the Force, he prodded at her mind, attempting to get a read on her emotional state. He caught a glimpse—a flash of her bright, shimmering presence, alive with the Force—before her shields slammed down, pushing him out of her mind faster and more forcefully than he would have thought possible. He staggered, mouth dropping open.

With an inarticulate cry of rage, she spun around and punched him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side and he pitched backward into the sand, hitting the ground with a thump that almost knocked the wind out of him. She’d forgotten that they were still chained at the wrist and the force of his fall yanked her forward off her feet. Her knee dug into his left hip and her free hand smacked against his chest as she caught herself from falling on top of him. She held herself braced above him, catching her breath. There was a frozen moment as he lay prone beneath her, staring up at her face.

“You’re Force sensitive,” he breathed.

Her face twisted and he caught a breathtakingly intense burst of emotion before she snuffed it out. She was afraid of him—he’d felt it like a stab of ice to his gut.

“Stay out of my mind,” she snarled. She was on her feet before he could take another breath. “Don’t you dare try any more of your Jedi tricks.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t do that again.”

By the time he’d made it to his feet she’d already turned away. “Keep up, _Jedi,”_ she spat, yanking on the chain as she surged forward. It took him a second for his brain to catch up and order his feet to move after her.

She wasn’t just Force sensitive, she had _training_ —enough training for mental shields that he couldn’t breach without great effort, and she hadn’t just sensed his mental touch, she’d _repelled_ him from her mind.

It had been almost a decade since Ben—since Ben had left him.

Luke had only been nineteen. He was three years into his training at that point, making daily trips between his Aunt’s farm and the hut at the edge of the Dune Sea where he now lived. One day Ben announced that he’d been called away to Alderaan on a mission—the details of which he’d never fully shared.

“Please, Ben, take me with you,” Luke had begged, over and over. Ben had told him it was too dangerous, that he was still too reckless and untested, that they were the last of the Jedi, and if they both died, the Jedi order would die with them. Ben could be very persuasive— _manipulative,_ Luke realized later, though he didn’t like to think ill of his master.

At the time, he had felt, with deep conviction, that he was _meant_ to leave Tatooine with Ben, and he’d made a terrible mistake staying behind. He’d gone as far as following Ben to Mos Eisley and looking into buying his own way to Alderaan, but he hadn’t gone through with it.

Maybe that was for the best.

Ben never came back. Luke had felt the moment he died, even before Ben’s ghost had visited him, just once, to say goodbye. Before he died, he told Luke that he had to stay hidden on Tatooine, or else Vader would find him and wipe him out as he had done to all the Jedi. _After_ he died, he told Luke to share his training in order to preserve the Order. Luke was the last of the Jedi, and it was down to him to carry on their legacy.

Luke hadn’t meant to disobey Ben. He’d started a war with Jabba because what the crime lord had done to Tatooine was wrong, and a Jedi was his planet’s only hope for justice. It had nothing to do with Ben’s death.

He’d waited for something—some sign from the galaxy to join the battle against Vader, or for the Force to lead him to others who had the same gifts as he did. Then Vader and the Emperor had died, and the Empire left Tatooine. He wasn’t sure what he was meant to do anymore. He’d waited for so long. In all those years, he’d never met anyone like himself.

Of course, he’d heard the rumors that Princess Leia Organa of Aldreaan was a Jedi. He’d heard the stories that she had killed Vader and the Emperor, as improbable as that sounded. It was said that she carried a lightsaber too, though opinion was mixed as to whether she actually knew how to use it or if it was just an affectation. There was a part of him that had always longed to reach out to her, but he’d never known if rumors from the Core were actually true.

He used to have dreams about the Rebel Princess too, right before the War with Jabba, strange, beautiful, unsettling dreams.

He’d been so lonely since Ben had left. He still had his family and his friends—his uncle had died when he was young and Luke didn’t remember him very well, but his Aunt Beru raised and loved him. Some of his childhood friends were gone now, but he had friends in all the settlements between Mos Espa and Mos Eisley. Even a few lovers, though not that many. Less in the last few years.

The ground under their feet gradually sloped downward, the low dunes giving way to an expanse of tawny rock. A wide plateau rose out of the desert before them, cut through with a series of fissures that looked like dark ribbons of shadow in the night. The Kairouan canyonlands covered only a brief stretch of the desert compared to the breadth of Beggar’s Canyon, and the passageways through the rock were twisting and far too narrow for more than a speeder to pass through. The compass led them to the shortest trail through the expanse of rock, and if they kept up the pace Lianna had set, they’d be through the canyons before the suns rose.

Luke could have told her which trail led to the Red Needle without having to consult a compass, but she hadn’t asked. Lianna only spoke to give tense directions whenever they came to a fork in the canyon and she consulted the compass again.

And still they moved on.

At the next juncture, the canyon widened until it was wide enough to comfortably fit a small freighter. A ripple of unease flowed through him; a warning from the Force. There was something wrong here—

Lianna _must_ have sensed it as well, but she continued to pull him forward. They’d only gone a dozen paces into the widest part of the passage when a tooth-rattling roar echoed through the canyon.

“Oh, no,” Luke breathed.

He scanned the canyon’s walls until he saw a crevice halfway up the side that looked like it led to a deeper cavern. The perfect nesting place for a canyon krayt. Canyon dragons were day creatures, and didn’t see well in the dark, but the moons still gave off enough light to see by, and the dragon must have been watching them since they unwittingly stumbled into its territory. Another roar bounced off the rock walls, and the dragon erupted out of the cave and came down the side in a shower of scree.

The creature roared again as it hit the canyon floor, shaking its horned head and baring long yellow teeth. There was no need for it to announce its presence or display like that if it were actually hungry, though he had no doubt that it intended to kill and eat them. He stretched out his senses until he touched the the second canyon krayt, a female, nesting out of sight in the crevice.

His lightsaber leapt from Lianna’s belt into his hand, and with a jerk through the Force, the cuff fell from his wrist. Stepping in front of her, he raised his blade in a defensive stance, the glow of the weapon a beacon in the shadowed canyon.

“Take cover,” he hissed over his shoulder.

He spun the lightsaber over his head, cutting blue streaks through the air as he darted to the side, running along the canyon wall. The dragon spun and charged, kicking up sand as it barreled down on him. He threw up an arm instinctively to keep the sand from blinding him. With the Force to guide him, he dropped and rolled to escape the long talons that slashed through the air mere centimeters from his head.

He expected the dragon to try and land a killing blow, but it turned and used its shoulder to shove him up against the canyon wall before twisting around to smack its tail where he would have been pinned if he hadn’t managed to duck out of range. It was playing with him. Holed up in that cave waiting for its mate to lay, it was more restless than actually hungry, though once it had killed them both it would drag them back to its cave and devour them.

Luke tried to catch hold of the creature’s mind, to see if he might convince the beast that he wasn’t prey or enemy, but his attention slipped as he caught sight of Lianna. She was still standing where he left her, framed by the curve of the canyon walls, completely exposed.

“Run—get out of here,” he shouted in her direction. What was she waiting for? “Lianna, don’t—”

He shouted as the dragon’s head whipped around and its jaw clamped down on his leg, dragging him into the air. It shook him back and forth and then tossed him into the air, slamming into the canyon wall. Stars burst across his vision and he heard something snap, the pain a red hot flash as he crumpled to the floor of the canyon. Head swimming, he managed to push unconsciousness aside; he had practice.

He heard the _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber before he saw the green shaft of light in Lianna’s hand as she charged for the dragon. It spun away, lashing a spiked tail in her direction. He felt the Force swell around her and she leapt into the air, higher than it was possible for most humans to jump, clearing the dragon’s tail with ease.

A _lightsaber._ She wasn’t just Force sensitive, she was a _Jedi._

She landed in the dragon’s blind spot, and he saw her brace to make a run for its unguarded flank.

“Don’t kill it!” he shouted.

He caught the surprised look she shot his way before she feigned, scraping her blade along the dragon’s side instead of landing a heavier blow. The dragon screamed with rage and whirled around again, but Liana was gone, darting towards the far canyon wall.

Luke drew on the Force to brace himself, and to hold whatever he’d broken in place, as he used the wall to push himself upright. The dragon was turned away from him, scanning the shadows for Lianna, its tail lashing back and forth. It would take one more burst of strength to do what he planned. The dragon was only acting in its own nature and it didn’t deserve to die.

He jumped, pushed off the wall, and used the Force to propel himself at the creature. Catching hold of one of its horns, he swung up onto the top of its head and planted his palm flat against its skull. “Sleep,” he ordered, pushing the intention down into the creature’s mind.

The creatures hissed and thrashed its head back and forth to shake him off. He was able to hold out for long enough to release the command, and then his hand slipped, and he fell away. Falling didn’t hurt, but hitting the ground _did._ Grimacing, he used the momentum of the fall to roll away from the dragon, and with one last burst of strength, pushed himself upright, with the canyon wall at his back, so that he could keep the dragon in sight.

He watched it stagger, still shaking its head as it collapsed slowly to the ground. It let out a sigh, the horned ridge on its back rising and falling as unconsciousness dragged it under. Luke felt his control snap like a string and he slid down until he was slumped against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him.

He took a deep breath, and used the Force to assess his injuries. Not so bad, once he took stock. A fractured tibia, and probably a subluxated knee. Maybe a concussion. More bruises than he cared to count. A lancing pain shot up his leg at the slightest movement, punctuating the unnerving throb in his knee. _Kriff._

When he looked up, Lianna stood in front of him. The broken cuff still hung from her left hand, and in her right—

“A _lightsaber?_ Who trained you?”

“I was trained by the Jedi Order,” she said.

As if that answered the question.

He shook his head. “The Jedi Order is extinct.”

“Yes, it is—It was.”

Scowling at the non-answer, he retorted, “Are you talking about Princess Leia? One person isn’t an entire order.”

“No. I was trained by the Old Order.”

He raised his eyebrows. She didn’t look _that_ old, for a start _._ Ben had been certain that there had been no more than a few survivors of Vader’s genocide. “Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

She ignored the question. “We can’t stay here,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious krayt dragon.

“It won’t wake for hours.”

“What about the other one?” She looked up at the crack in the side of the canyon wall as she spoke. He hadn’t mentioned the other dragon.

“Nesting. She won’t leave the cave for months.”

She seemed to accept that, her forehead lightly creased in concentration as she used the Force to scan the area. Like a trained Jedi would. Satisfied, her attention returned to him.

He scowled up at her. “I’m not getting up until you tell me.” He was mostly bluffing.

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief and she swept an appraising look over him. “Can you even stand?”

Probably not, he thought.

She crouched in front of him, her head tilted to the side, a mirror to his pose when she’d been injured only hours before. “Let me take a look at your injury.” She paused, as though she were considering, then offered: “I can tell you about my training when we get to my ship.”

He sighed. His leg really kriffing hurt. “Okay, fine.” The soft brush of her presence in the Force pressed up against his like a cooling breeze.

“I just fractured the tiba—I need…”

“—a healing trance,” she finished.

“Yeah.” He laughed a little. A _trained Jedi._ Like him. He wasn’t as alone as he used to think.

“I can help.”

He gingerly shifted his fractured leg as he slid sideways along the wall, so that he could turn his body enough to lay back and stretch out flat on the floor of the canyon. The pain was making him lightheaded. She cupped his shoulder, easing him down. He expected her to back off once he settled, but she left her hand at his shoulder, the warmth of her fingers seeping through his shirt.

“What phrase should I use to bring you out of it?” she asked.

“A phrase?” It took him a moment to realize what she was asking; he wasn’t used to depending on someone else to guard him while he was in a trance. Usually he waited until he could drag himself back to his hut where he wouldn’t be vulnerable while he was unconscious. “I’ll come out of it in a couple of hours on my own. If there’s an emergency…how about: _buy me a drink?_ ”

He grinned as she snorted and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he began to sink into the Force.

A comm signal burst out of her jacket, the beep-beep-beep startling him out of the pattern he’d been weaving in his mind. He jerked, his eyes flying open.

Lianna pulled the comm out of her jacket and silenced it. “My contact can wait. Don’t worry about it.” Her hand returned to his shoulder.

“Are you sure—” He felt her at the edge of his mind, drawing him back into the trance.

A breath in, a breath out, and darkness.

\- - - 

Chenini was a silver smile directly overhead when he woke from the healing trance and blinked up at the sky. The desert cold was starting to bite through his clothes and he took a moment to draw heat into his body before he lifted his head.

Lianna knelt on the sand a few feet away, hands resting lightly on her legs, lightsaber clipped to her belt. Her eyes were closed, and three small stones looped weightlessly around her body in lazy, elliptical orbits. It was a simple training exercise, one that Ben had taught him when he was first learning the ways of the Force.

He wondered what Ben would have thought of Lianna.

Her eyes blinked open and the stones drifted to the canyon floor. “Feel better?”

He stretched his leg, wriggled his foot. “Yep.”

He’d have to be careful for the next few days, so that he wouldn’t aggravate what he’d already healed, but the pain was gone and he was sound enough to walk out of the desert. He pivoted to face her as he sat up, crossing his legs as he came into a sitting position. He could feel his lightsaber still clipped to his hip. He expected her to stand, but she remained in the meditation pose facing him, her spine straight and hands relaxed on her thighs. She looked rested.

“They tell a lot of stories about you on Tatooine,” she said.

He shrugged. The stories weren’t really about him—they were myths and tall tales, and if the myths helped keep the Hutts off of Tatooine, he could live with implausible stories about the Wizard of the Dune Sea.

“Can we try this again?” he asked. “My name is Luke Skywalker. My master was Ben Kenobi. He trained me in the ways of the Force and to live by the code of the Jedi Order, to offer aid to those in need and justice for the dead. Although you knew that already.”

She gave a slight nod. He gestured toward her with a raised eyebrow, waiting for her to return the greeting. A few minutes passed as she looked at him and he could feel her probing carefully at the edges of his mind.

“My earliest training came from the Emperor.”

Luke felt as though she’d tossed a glass of ice water in his face. He could see her watching him; gauging his reaction, and he struggled to control his horror. He didn’t want to alienate her now.

The dark side didn’t cling to her as he would expect anyone associated with the Emperor; when he’d touched her mind earlier all he had felt was the light. Palpatine had been dead for five years, and she wasn’t under his influence any longer. She couldn’t be.

“I defected when I was nineteen.” Setting her jaw, she unfastened her jacket, reached inside, and pulled something out of an inner pocket. “When I found this.” She slowly unfolded her extended hand.

A small glowing cube sat in her palm. A holocron.

She closed her eyes for a moment and the holocron pulsed with light and rose to hover, slowly rotating, above her fingertips. A tall man with dark brown skin and a stern expression materialized in the air to Lianna’s right.

“Greetings, Padawans,” he said with a nod of his head.

Behind him, two women appeared, one with hair braided into loops and a bead on her forehead and between her brows, and the other wearing a Tholothian headdress. Soon Lianna was surrounded by projections of dead Jedi masters, wearing the plain brown robes of their order. Luke’s stomach lurched as he recognized Ben, young and stately, standing among the ghostly forms.

“Every Padawan training program the Jedi ever developed is contained in this holocron,” Lianna said. “Taught by Jedi masters of the old Order. I’ve studied them all, every lesson the Masters thought that a Padawan should know.”

They flickered in the air like a failing transmission, a chorus of voices calling “may the Force be with you,” before each holo blinked out. The holocron dropped back into Lianna’s palm.

Lianna stared down at the holocron in her hand, her gaze distant. “They guided me to the light, through everything…” She trailed off, unwilling or unable to continue that line of thought. “But that’s all. Beyond that…nearly everything the Jedi knew is lost.” 

Not entirely, Luke thought. He’d never fully completed his training nor earned the title of Jedi Knight, even though he’d trained with Ben for years and studied the Force on his own since his master died, using the notes and a few training holocrons Ben had left behind.

“I can share what Ben taught me. I’d love to study your holocron as well—”

Something in her expression closed down, and she yanked back her hand, tucking the holocron back into her jacket pocket before he had a chance to look at it further.

“Why don’t you trust me?” 

Lianna stiffened, looking away.

“I felt your fear, earlier. Why are you afraid of me? I don’t mean you any harm.”

She still wouldn’t meet his eye. “I had another teacher. After—”

Her comm beeped again, an insistent drone that cut through the night.

“Your ride?”

“He’s at the rendezvous.” She rose. “He’s waiting for us.”

 _Who?_ Luke thought.

She was studying the compass again.

“Put that away,” he said, standing with an exasperated sigh. “I can show you the way.”

The moons had set by the time they reached the edge of the canyons, and the stars were beginning to fade as dawn started to lighten the edges of the horizon. A squat freighter sat waiting for them in the shadow of the Red Needle. As they approached, the ship’s ramp lowered with a hiss, and Lianna’s contact strolled down to meet them.

Luke blinked up at the man framed by the ship’s lights. He knew that face. He’d seen that face in a thousand propaganda holos.

Han Solo.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Red,” Solo said. 

_Red?_ Luke shot an accusing glare at Lianna, who ignored him.

Solo looked back and forth between them, and then settled his gaze on Lianna. “What happened to the speeder?” 

_“He_ happened to the speeder.” She gestured at Luke. “He took out the engine with his lightsaber. It was—” She shook her head, mouth a narrow line. “Unsalvageable.” 

Solo grinned. “I’ll get him out of town nice and quiet, she says—“

“Shut up.” 

Still grinning like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, Solo looked over at Luke and crossed his arms. It gave him the appearance of lounging up against a bar while standing on the edge of the ramp of a freighter that looked like it had fought the entirety of the Separatist Army thirty years ago—and lost. 

“You sure that’s him?” Solo asked Lianna. 

“That’s him,” Lianna replied. 

“Huh.” Solo tilted his head. “He didn’t have the beard in the holos.” 

“I’m _right here,”_ Luke said. 

“I’d lose the beard,” Solo suggested, and Luke just stared at him incredulously. 

“Are _you_ her boss?” 

They both laughed. “Red’s her own boss,” Solo said. “Unless you’re talking about Leia. Leia’s everyone’s boss.” 

_“Leia_? The Princess?” 

The presence of Han Solo made it clear that Lianna had connections with the New Republic (and possibly the Rebellion before that), but she hadn’t mentioned the Rebel Princess. 

“What’d you tell him?” Solo asked Lianna. 

“She hasn’t told me _anything,”_ Luke said, aware that his tone was sliding into a whine. 

It wasn’t entirely true—he knew that she had been an Imperial, and that she had spent the last decade or so training with dead masters of the old Order. As improbable as it sounded, those revelations had felt true. She’d also kidnapped him, lied to him, dragged him across the desert—and then helped him through a healing trace and protected him while he was at his most vulnerable. 

It had been a confusing night. 

Solo looked back and forth between them, then dropped his arms. “Come on in, it looks like you could use a drink. Both of you.” 

He turned and walked up the ramp without looking back. Baffled, Luke looked over at Lianna. It was clear that she wasn’t going to move until he did, and with a mental shrug—like his day could get any weirder—he followed Solo into the freighter. 

“Welcome to the Millennium Falcon,” Solo said with a sweep of his arm, as though the heap they were walking into was something to be proud of. 

The interior of the cargo ship proved to be exactly what the exterior had promised. Most of the interior walls had been stripped, leaving ducts and wiring exposed, and the paneling that remained was worn and cracked. Luke could see signs of electrical fires in several places and the entire ship smelled like Wookiee. It wasn’t what he expected a general of the New Republic to be flying. 

Solo himself was lanky and good looking; better looking than he was in the holos. He led them down a curved corridor to a common room. One corner of the common room featured a couch that wrapped around a dejarik table that had seen better days, with spare bunk tucked into wall above the couch. There was a pile of crates stacked on the other side of the room, as if someone hadn’t bothered to stow them properly in the hold. 

“This is still kidnapping,” Luke said. As if he would walk away now if he could. 

“We’ll consider a ransom,” Solo drawled. He rummaged around in a cabinet on the wall and then held up a bottle of amber liquid in one hand. He pointed at Lianna with his free hand. “Go clean up. I’ll keep an eye on the kid.” 

“Solo—” 

“Go on.” Solo made a shoo-ing gesture with his hands. “We can entertain ourselves.” 

She flicked a glance in Luke’s direction and then turned back down the corridor. Apparently, he’d won her trust enough let him out of her sight, but not without a keeper she trusted. 

“I’m using the water tank,” she called over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, sure,” Solo said. 

“I won’t be long.” 

“Take a seat,” Solo told him when Lianna had left, putting a glass filled with the spirit he’d selected in Luke’s hand. Luke sat gingerly in the scuffed and faded booth behind the dejarik table. In contrast, the glass in his hand was high quality and the whiskey fine. A small pile of ration bars was heaped on the table and Luke realized he was famished. The ration bar didn’t taste like much, but it was filling, and Luke ate two before he returned to his drink. 

Solo sauntered over to a seat in front of an engineering station, tucking the bottle and a spare glass on the console. He spun the chair around so that it faced Luke before slouching into the seat, his glass propped casually on his knee. 

“Red doesn’t trust easy,” he said. 

Luke snorted. That was an understatement. “ _Red_?” 

Solo waved a hand. “That’s just camouflage,” he said, which didn’t exactly clarify the situation. “She was raised not to trust anyone but the Emperor, and that—” He waved his glass in a circular gesture. “Didn’t turn out well. Obviously.” 

Nothing about this was obvious. “What’s your part in all this?” 

Solo shrugged. “I’m married to Leia.” 

Luke had a vague memory of hearing that they had married from some broadcast from the Core, though it was news that hadn’t seemed significant at the time. He knew that Solo was a smuggler-turned-Rebellion general, and that he’d fought in many of the major battles of the war, as had the Rebel Princess. Word of their marriage had eventually made it out to Tatooine, but by then it was only a fragment of a story, no better than gossip by the time it reached the Rim. 

“What does that have to do with Lianna?” 

“It’s a long story, Kid.” 

Luke lifted his glass. “It looks like I have the time.” 

“Well…” Solo began as he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, rolling the glass back and forth between his palms. “I guess it all started when I got hired to sneak a fugitive into Alderaan. We think he was a friend of yours. Name of Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

The only reason Luke didn’t drop his glass was that it was just a couple inches from the table, but it still hit the table with a conspicuous thunk as he stared at Solo. Despite the former smuggler’s casual pose and air of indifference as he dropped _that_ revelation, he was watching Luke’s reaction more carefully than he appeared. This was as much a test as every single conversation he’d had with Lianna. 

“Lianna didn’t tell me.” 

“He didn’t make it out. Sorry, Kid.” 

“I know.” There had barely been time for Luke to say what needed saying when Ben’s ghost appeared shortly after his death. Ben had counseled him on what he should do next, but hadn’t mentioned Solo at the time. “Obi-Wan was a good man, and a good friend.” 

“Yeah, he was a mysterious old bastard, too.”

Luke chuckled and Solo gave him a lopsided smile. It felt like something had eased between them, though neither had entirely let down their guard. 

“So, anyway—believe it or not, it gets crazier from there.” 

Luke expected Solo’s story to be as opaque as his comments about Lianna, but to his surprise, he was an engaging storyteller. He wasn’t lying either, or offering misleading half-truths as Lianna had done, although it was obvious that he was leaving things out, glossing over certain events and dropping in non-sequiturs that didn’t add up. Luke felt as though he was looking down at a shattered bowl; fragments glimmered up at him, but he had no idea how they all fit together. 

“How does Lianna fit into all of this?” Luke asked as Solo wrapped up his story. 

“Leia wants the New Republic to have its own Jedi Order, and she wants Red to help found it, but Red…” Solo shook his head. “The Emperor did a number on her, and she’s still working that out. There’s Force stuff too, I don’t know, she can tell you if she wants. I think she would have come out of it okay if she’d met Leia after he died, but C’baoth found her first.” 

“C’baoth?” 

“Yeah, that’s the new crisis,” Solo said, blowing out a breath and leaning back in his chair. “Red’ll tell you about that one.” 

“What’s her real name? It isn’t Lianna Harrik.” 

Solo flashed Luke one of his half-grins. “Nice try. Ask her yourself.” 

Luke was halfway through his next question when Lianna returned. He looked up and froze, his mouth hanging open a little. She stood in the rounded arc of the doorway, in a dark blue shirt and brown, high-waisted pants. Whatever she’d used to dye her hair black had been washed away, and her bright red-gold hair hung in a neat braid over one shoulder. The silvery-blue eyes had been a ruse as well. She returned his stare with a raised eyebrow, eyes as green as manak leaves. 

“We were just talking about you.” Solo extended an arm in her direction, a glass of whiskey at the end of it. Lianna took the glass, and after a moment of hesitation, crossed the small hold and sat in the booth opposite Luke. She took a sip of the whiskey and then placed the glass down on the table before she peeled back the wrapper on a ration bar and ate it with the same focus that Luke had. 

“I—I like the red.” 

He saw Solo’s eyebrows shoot up. “He likes the red,” he repeated, a smirk behind his words. 

“Shut up,” Lianna growled. 

“What’s your name?” Luke asked. 

She held his gaze for a long moment before she spoke. “Mara,” she said. “Mara Jade.” 

“Why all the subterfuge?” Luke asked. 

Lianna— _Mara_ —took another drink before she answered. “What do you know about Joruus C’baoth?” 

“Solo mentioned him,” Luke glanced over at Solo, who had his eyes on Mara as she spoke. 

“Joruus C’baoth is the clone of a Jedi Master who died in the last days of the Republic. C’baoth survived the purge, and resurfaced after Palpatine’s death. He’s been collecting a following of Force-sensitives, training them.” 

It was hard to wrap his head around the idea that he wasn’t alone any more. He’d spent so many years believing that he was the last of the Jedi, but there had been other survivors, and new acolytes, who were attempting to piece together what had been lost. 

“Surely he could share what he knows about the Jedi Order?” Something Solo had said drifted back. “Were you one of his followers?”

Her face went blank, all expression dropping away. In a flat voice, she said, “He recruited me after I left the Emperor’s service. I spent two years in C’baoth’s Order.” He could sense sharp sparks of anger crackling like flashfire behind her blank expression. Solo stood and drifted closer to the booth, leaning against the corner nearest to Mara. “He doesn’t want to restore the old Order. He’s insane. He’s an unstable megalomaniac who wants to rebuild the Jedi Order to suit his own agenda. He—he can strip out the parts of a person’s mind that don’t suit him and bend them to his will.”

“That—” He didn’t bother to keep the horror out of his voice or off of his face. “That’s a complete violation of everything the Jedi believe.” 

“That’s not what C’baoth believes. He’s the one who sent the Noghri after you, to bring you into the fold.” 

“That’s an extreme recruitment pitch,” Luke said, in part to cover his consternation, and Solo snorted. 

Mara ignored the joke. “My first priority was to confirm that you weren’t in league with him. The information we were given suggested that you were a powerful Force wielder as well, and we needed to make sure you weren’t a threat.” 

“And if I was?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he had to ask. 

“Then I’d do whatever was necessary.” Mara set her jaw, keeping her eyes locked on his, and he believed she would. 

“You’d kill me.” 

“There are other ways to neutralize a Jedi,” she said, the threat implicit. “He’ll try and recruit you again. The Noghri were only the first attempt.” 

He was furious, he realized, angrier than he’d been since the War with Jabba. She must have felt so alone—all that talent and power and only a single holocron filled with dead Jedi to guide her. That someone like C’baoth had taken her trust and so abused her that her first reaction on meeting another Jedi was fear made rage pulse through him, supernova-bright. 

Luke took a deep breath. “I would never do anything to violate the Jedi code. When—in the desert—I just wanted to get a sense of what you were feeling. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” 

“What does the Jedi code say about stopping insane Jedi?” Solo asked. 

“You’re here to recruit me, too, aren’t you?” Luke looked back and forth between them as he spoke. “Once you decided I wasn’t a threat?” 

“We could use the help of someone who, say, took out Jabba the Hutt,” Solo said. 

“C’baoth has followers,” Mara said. “And the support of the Imperial Remnant. He wants to restore the Empire with his Jedi at the head of it. Leia and I can’t stop him alone.”

“He’s going to tear the New Republic apart,” Solo said, his voice grim. 

“Tatooine isn’t part of the New Republic,” Luke reminded them, suddenly feeling mulish. 

“There was an Imperial presence here once,” Mara pointed out. “If C’baoth succeeds, there will be again.”

“All the more reason for me to stay and protect the planet.” 

“Hey, if you want another reason—“ Solo began. 

Mara cut him off. “We can’t force you to come with us,” she said, looking like she very much wanted to. “If you want to stay and fight off C’baoth’s Noghri on your own, go ahead. He isn’t going to just leave you alone.” 

“This is my _home._ I’ve already fought a war, without any help from the New Republic—” Luke began, heatedly, only to have Mara meet his anger. 

“So have we. We’re not asking—”

 _“You_ said you weren’t looking for a mercenary, but that’s exactly—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Solo stepped around in front of the table, waving his hands. “Let’s all calm down for a moment. Back down, both of you.” He gestured with the glass still in his hand. “Take a drink,” he finished, sternly. 

Mara’s glare shifted to Solo, who pointed a finger at her. “Ah-ah-ah.” 

Luke leaned back and followed Solo’s order. He wasn’t really angry with her, even if she had chosen the most infuriatingly roundabout way to try and recruit him. He didn’t think most people kidnapped _first,_ asked questions second. 

And that was C’baoth’s fault. Whatever he’d done—whatever he was still doing—had left a mark. If what Mara had said was true about C’baoth, the man had to be stopped, even if Luke wasn’t sure he was the one to do it. 

“You don’t have to decide right this minute,” Solo said. “Leia wants to talk to you too. We could take you to see her and bring you back if you change your mind.” 

“Is—is Leia Organa really a Jedi?” Solo had spoken of Leia—his wife—in glowing terms, but he’d been vague about the specifics, and Luke needed to know if the rumors were true. 

“Yup,” Solo said. “And she’s probably your sister.” 

Solo dodged a kick Mara lashed toward his shin, looking unrepentant. 

“What?” Luke stared at him. Leia Organa was an Alderanian princess, not _his sister._

“Leia was adopted. Anakin Skywalker was her birth father,” Mara said briskly, still glaring at Solo. 

“That can’t be true.” But it was true, he knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth, though he could tell that there was more to the story that they weren’t telling him. 

“That’s the other reason I was sent to find you,” Mara continued. “Leia wants to talk to you about your father and his—history. Before C’baoth gets a chance.” 

It was too much. He stood up from the table and walked out of the hold. They didn’t follow him. 

He had a sister. A _sister._ His sister _was a princess._

She was a Jedi as well. Like him. 

It was certainly possible—the Force left no doubt—and he wished again that Ben was still alive. He had some questions to ask about how the great Jedi of Ben’s stories had ending up fathering two children on opposite ends of the galaxy. 

Mara could have used the information to lure him out of the desert, and she hadn’t—as if she were afraid of how he would react to the information. Storming out like he had wasn’t the most mature reaction, Luke had to admit, though he wasn’t ready to face either of them just yet. 

Solo’s ship wasn’t very big, and it didn’t take Luke long to pace the length of it. He wandered blindly through the corridors until he found himself in the cockpit. Through the windows, the sky was brushed with orange and pink, the suns a pair of white-hot disks low on the horizon. He sunk into the captain’s seat and watched the desert gradually brighten. 

He couldn’t just leave Tatooine, leave the only home he’d ever known. Besides, the planet was under his protection; what kind of Jedi would he be if he walked away from his people? 

What would Ben say? 

At nineteen he would have given anything to leave Tatooine with Ben to help Princess Leia save the galaxy. The Rebel Princess was a flickering image that appeared in Imperial transmissions and illicit Rebel propaganda, a romantic figure who lost her planet and now gave everything to fight the Empire. She’d been at the final battle against the Emperor, and people whispered that she had used Jedi magic to defeat him. Luke had dismissed that last part as only gossip, but now he wasn’t sure what was true. 

He wasn’t nineteen anymore, either. He didn’t dream of rescuing princesses and saving the galaxy. Everything he’d worked for—becoming the Wizard of the Dune Sea, protector of the planet, a legend that mothers told their children and crime lords feared—meant nothing outside of Tatooine. 

He looked over his shoulder as Solo came into the cockpit and stood in the aisle, leaning one arm against the co-pilot’s chair. There was a moment of silence before Solo spoke. “Leia wanted to come, you know, but...” 

“I’m sure running the New Republic keeps her busy.” He’d meant the comment to be biting, but he knew he just sounded tired. 

Solo shook his head. “It’s not you. She finds it hard dealing with anything that has to do with her father.” 

He supposed it _would_ be difficult, if you’d been raised as a princess. It was obvious that there was much more to the story; the Force was strangely weighted around what Jade and Solo weren’t telling him, and no one had explained how Leia had discovered their connection. 

He wanted to know more about his father. He could ask Leia—he could ask his _sister_ —when he met her. He could ask her the dozens of questions swarming in his head. 

“When we first heard stories about some guy on Tatooine who killed Jabba, we didn’t know that it was you. Then we didn’t know if you actually _were_ a Jedi, or...something else. Before we dragged Leia out here, Red and I had to make sure you weren’t as crazy as you sounded.” 

Luke couldn’t help but grin a little, nodding his head in acknowledgment of the absurdity of the entire situation. 

“It would mean a lot to her if you came with us—joined our side. If the stories they say about you are true, we could use you.” 

He looked Solo in the eye. “I’d like to meet her.” 

A crooked grin slid over Solo’s face. “You’re in my seat,” he said, gesturing. 

Luke moved out of his way, standing awkwardly in the center of the cockpit as Solo slid into the captain’s chair and began flipping switches. 

“Is there anything you need to pick up first?” Solo asked, eyes on the console. 

“No, but I would like to send a message.” 

Solo jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the jumpseat behind the co-pilot’s chair. “There’s a comm station there.” 

The message he sent to Aunt Beru wasn’t a proper farewell—just a short note to let her know that he was safe, that wasn’t sure when he’d return to Tatooine, and that he’d contact her again when he could. As he sent the message Mara came into the cockpit and took the co-pilot’s seat without speaking. Still sitting at the comm station, Luke leaned around the chair in front of him to watch them move through the lift-off process. 

“I’ve never been off-planet before,” he admitted. 

“Never?” 

Luke shook his head. As an infant, perhaps, but he had no memory of that time. 

“Well, hold tight,” Solo said. 

A light cloud of sand billowed up around the ship as it lifted off of the desert floor and into the air. The Falcon shot forward and rose into the sky, speeding toward the dome of blue overhead. Luke held his breath the moment Tatooine’s atmosphere melted away into the blackness of space, stars gleaming in every direction. It was more beautiful than he had dreamed. 

Solo pulled the ship into a wide arc, so that the great golden sphere of Tatooine slid by the viewport. Luke craned his neck so that he could see his home planet set against the vastness of space. There was no reason for Solo to have made that maneuver except for Luke’s benefit, and he was touched by the gesture. Intense emotion welled up within him and he blinked back the hot sting of tears as he watched his home rapidly diminishing through the viewport. 

“Incoming,” Mara snapped, drawing his attention to the ship’s sensors. “TIE fighter wing, fourth quadrant.” 

“Nice to see old friends again,” Solo said. 

“Star Destroyer orbiting the far side of the planet,” Mara reported, her hands flying across the console. 

“We’ll be long gone before it gets here.” 

“The Noghri must have tipped off the nearest patrol—or they had backup waiting.” 

“Uh-huh. Just had to make things a little more interesting for us. Ever used a gun turret before, Kid?” 

“No, but I’ve practiced in simulators.” 

“Better than nothin,’” Solo said, flipping a series of switches above his head. “Get to the guns, both of you.” 

Luke followed Mara out of the cockpit and up into the chute that led to the gun turrets. There was a strange lurching feeling of gravity shifting around him as he climbed up into the upper turret. He slipped into the chair and hooked the headset over his ear as he searched for the right switches––there and there, one next to the headset, and two over his shoulder. In front of him, the red box of the targeting computer lit up. He wrapped his hands around the control handles, getting a feel for the way the guns shifted as he turned in his seat.

There had been a time when he was younger—much younger, before the war—when he’d haunted Tatooine’ spaceports, talking his way onto every ship he could just to see how they worked, with the vague hope that one day he’d travel the stars. It had been a long time since he’d imagined himself in the seat of a gun turret, preparing to go into battle. 

“Ready?” Solo’s voice crackled through the headset. 

Luke confirmed and Mara’s cool “ready” echoed his call. He could sense her in the gun turret below, but he shied away from making direct contact with her mind. He let his awareness stretch out beyond the ship, across the void of space—not far enough to sense the enemy pilots, but enough to get a feel for Solo’s ship and to prepare him for the fight to come. 

“Here they come!” 

The TIEs came screaming toward the ship, scattering to swarm like hissii flies around them. Solo spun the Falcon into a corkscrew and dove away from the TIEs, the first volley of fire striking the empty space where the ship had been. 

Luke followed the closest TIE with his canon, his chair swinging to one side as he fired, the red flash of his cannon’s fire meeting the green of a TIE’s lasers. The targeting computer flashed as the scope lined up a kill shot, but Luke juked the gun a fraction to the right so that the blast hit the TIE’s wing, disabling the ship without destroying the ship and killing the pilot. The damaged ship streaked by, a second explosion blooming beyond it as Mara landed a direct hit. 

They were in a pitched battle and loss of life was inevitable, but if he could destroy his enemy’s ship without killing the pilot, he would make the attempt, even if it was more difficult than just firing with abandon. 

He felt a presence brush at the edge of his awareness as Mara made contact and he couldn’t help the giddy emotion that spilled into the connection; the touch of another Jedi in his head was as much a rush as the fight. Her wry amusement echoed back through the link as her focus turned back to the fight and another TIE disintegrated in a flash of light. 

He tugged at the connection between them until he had her attention again, and then pushed a series of images across the link, waiting until he felt her assent. He let his cannons go silent. 

“Hey, you okay, Kid?” 

“Everything’s fine. Keep the ship steady.” 

A TIE swooped alongside the ship, firing on its left flank. Mara returned fire, driving the TIE upwards into Luke’s sights, and it only took a single, perfectly timed shot to the right wing panel and the ship spun away, trailing smoke. 

Solo whooped over the comms. 

It was a move that would only work once, and remaining TIEs were wary of any feigned silence from his guns. Mara continued to pound furiously away at any TIE she sighted, and Luke kept a steady line of fire to protect the ship’s upper hull. Solo pulled his ship into loops and tight turns, but the TIEs still managed a few hits in spite of the rapid barrage of fire from Luke and Mara’s guns. Solo cursed as the ship shuddered alarmingly. 

Luke had his sights set on a TIE making a run on the port side when a warning flared through him as a second TIE came in close and skimmed below the ship. He didn’t have time to react. 

“Mara!” 

He heard her curse and felt the ship jolt as the TIE landed a direct hit to the lower gun turret. 

“Mara!” 

He reached for her Force signature and clung to it—she was alive, though anger and frustration washed across the link. 

“I’m fine,” Mara said, her voice tight over the comm. “I just burned my kriffing hands.”

He swung his seat to the left and craned his neck to look down the access chute. Mara was turned to look up at him, her face pale. The transparasteel viewport behind her was blackened and scored, and flames were licking out of a panel on the left console. 

“They knocked out the right cannon. I might be able to fix the left if I climb down into—”

“No!” Luke and Han shouted simultaneously. If any of the TIEs made another direct hit to the turret, it could kill her. 

“Seal it up and get out of there,” Solo said. “I need your help up here anyway. It’s all you, Kid.” 

Luke tried to concentrate on the targeting computer, firing at another TIE that dared to approach the ship’s rear flank, his attention divided by what was happening in the gun turret below. The thunk-hiss of a cabin sealing itself off carried up the chute and he risked another glance over his shoulder to watch Mara climb up the access chute ladder and into the main cabin. He winged a TIE, but instead of retreating the pilot turned directly into the path of the ship, and Luke was forced to shoot the ship out of the way. 

“Two still trailing us,” Mara said over the comms. 

“Not for long,” Solo responded, “I’m making the jump.”

Luke kept his finger on the trigger, primed to jump back into the fight until he felt a strange pressure, as though the entire ship were being tugged forward, and the view through the transparasteel dissolved into the blue lines of hyperspace. He dropped his hands, flopping deeper into the chair as a breath rushed out of him. 

His heart still pounded. He took a moment to calm himself and let the adrenaline pulsing through his system ease as he stared out at the blue-white light streaking by in a monotonous blur. He’d seen holos of hyperspace before too, but he hadn’t expected to be captivated by the sight. He sat and watched, losing track of time as he stared at the space warping around them. 

Tatooine was behind him now. He knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn’t be returning. Oh, he’d go back to visit Beru and check in on friends, but it wasn’t his home anymore. Tatooine would spin on without him. He’d done what he could for his home planet, and now it was time to be of use to the galaxy. 

Out there, he wouldn’t be the Wizard of the Dune Sea anymore. He could just be Luke Skywalker. 

“Glad to have you on board,” Solo said, spinning around in his chair as Luke came into the cockpit. “Good job up there.” 

“Thanks,” Luke said.

“We’re set for Coruscant,” Solo said. “If you’re still in?” 

“I am.” 

“Great,” Solo said, slapping his hands on his knees. “I could eat a bantha. Can I get anything for you two?” He shot Mara a wry look. “Besides a ration bar?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

“Kid?” 

Luke thought for a moment. A ship like this one could go anywhere in the galaxy, and now he could as well. He could try Ithorian beta’n salad and fried ulu beetles. He could visit the forests of Kashyyyk and attend a Mon Calamari opera; he would finally see the glittering city-planet of Coruscant with his own eyes. There were things out there that he couldn’t even imagine. 

“Do you have any fish? I’ve never had it before.” 

Solo raised his eyebrows. “Okay, sure. Fish should be eaten fresh, but I’ll see what Chewie’s stashed in deep freeze. As soon as we hit Coruscant we’re taking you to dinner.” 

He left the two of them alone in the cockpit. Luke’s gaze was drawn inexorably back to the swirl of hyperspace that cast a blue glow over Mara’s features as she bent over the monitor. Her hands were bandaged. 

_“Are_ you with us?” she asked quietly, looking over. 

“Yes,” Luke said. It was time for him to be Luke Skywalker again. “C’baoth needs to be stopped, and I want to help you.” 

“There’s more to the story,” Mara said. 

“There always is.” 

Mara shook her head. “More to Leia’s story—”

“I know,” Luke said. “I’m ready to hear it. When I meet Leia.” It was strange to call her that, as though he knew her already. 

A wariness still colored her presence, but the fear was gone. Had been gone since the canyon. 

“Can I help with your hands?”

She hesitated, glancing down and picking at the edge of the bandage for a moment as she thought it over. He extended his hands, and she met his eyes. Whatever she read in his face seemed to satisfy her, and she placed her hands in his. 

He slowly unwound the hastily wrapped bandages, holding her blistered hands in his own. He reached in the Force and found her right alongside him, her presence twining with his as they directed the flow of the Force into her damaged hands. Like a speeded-up holo, the angry red slowly paled, the skin smooth and unbroken once more. He ran his fingers over a palm that had been blistered moments before. She had a distinctive ridge of calluses that mirrored his own; calluses that could only come from a lightsaber. 

“I’d like to...train with you too, if you don’t mind. It’s been a while since I practiced with someone else.” He brushed his thumbs over her palms again and felt an odd shiver through her sense. 

Looking up, he grinned. “This time without the handcuffs?” 

The hint of a smile touched the corner of her mouth. “Fine.” 

“You can call me Luke.” 

“Sure, Skywalker.” 

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. Mara smiled back. 

It was a start. 


End file.
